Chapter 6 - Natalie’s NotebookClaire’s emergency review produced something Harrison had not expected.
A court order allowing expanded child-welfare access to the house.
Not removal.
Not yet.
The judge wanted more evidence.
Harrison’s attorney argued that locking bedrooms was a misguided but temporary response to children who had experienced instability.
The judge ordered the locks removed immediately.
Harrison complied.
In front of inspectors.
By nightfall, he had installed motion alarms instead.
Jocelyn discovered them when she opened her door at 1:00 a.m.
A quiet chime sounded downstairs.
Thirty seconds later Harrison appeared.
“Back to bed.”
“I need water.”
“There’s water in your bathroom.”
“I want Freya.”
“No.”
“The judge said you can’t lock us in.”
“I’m not locking you in.”
“You’re watching us.”
“This is my house.”
Jocelyn stared at him.
“That’s what Damon always said.”
For the first time, the comparison hit Harrison.
His face tightened.
“Never compare me to him.”
“Then stop acting like him.”
Harrison took a step forward.
Jocelyn flinched.
He stopped.
She saw something in his eyes.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
He knew she was afraid of him now.
And instead of softening, he looked angry that she had noticed.
“Bed.”
Jocelyn returned to her room.
But she had accomplished one thing.
She now knew the alarm response time.
Thirty seconds.
The next day Harrison spent hours on the phone with lawyers.
Jocelyn used the distraction to search the basement again.
She found the red coat.
The school boxes.
Natalie’s medical files.
Then, behind a carton of holiday decorations, an old spiral notebook.
The cover read:
N.R. — BRIAR
Jocelyn opened it.
Most pages were numbers she didn’t understand.
Dates.
Property addresses.
Initials.
But one page contained full sentences.
H says D moved 42k through Mercer Renovation. D says H created the account. Both assume I’ll choose a side. I am beginning to think the side is me and the girls.
Jocelyn’s hands trembled.
Another entry:
Asked Harrison about 1187 account. He lied. Asked Damon. He lied differently.
Another:
Miriam says stop trying to save both men from consequences.
Jocelyn stopped.
Aunt Miriam had known.
She turned pages faster.
Blue key — box 214.
Her heart jumped.
There it was.
A box number.
Bank safe-deposit box?
Storage?
Something else?
Below it:
Second key with M. Never keep both together.
Jocelyn nearly cried.
Natalie had split the keys deliberately.
One hidden somewhere.
One with Miriam.
Two keys required.
Whatever Box 214 contained had been important enough that Natalie did not trust one person to access it.
Jocelyn heard footsteps upstairs.
She closed the notebook.
Where could she hide it?
The servant dress.
Harrison had discarded it in the laundry room after searching it.
Jocelyn ran upstairs, grabbed the gray dress, and slipped the notebook inside the lining where the hem had already opened.
For the first time, the humiliating uniform became useful.
She hid it beneath other laundry.
Then returned to her room before Harrison found her.
He entered.
“You’ve been downstairs.”
“No.”
“The alarm registered the basement door.”
Jocelyn’s stomach dropped.
Harrison held up a tablet.
“Smart house.”
She had forgotten.
“Why?”
“I wanted a book.”
“There are books upstairs.”
“Not Mom’s.”
His expression changed.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at her.
“Jocelyn.”
“Nothing.”
“Your mother’s notebook?”
She reacted.
Too late.
Harrison swore.
He left the room and headed for the basement.
Jocelyn ran to the vent.
“Freya!”
“What?”
“Listen carefully.”
“Okay.”
“If Dad asks, you don’t know anything about Box 214.”
Silence.
“What’s Box 214?”
“Exactly.”
Freya understood.
Then she whispered, “Jo?”
“Yeah?”
“I remembered the song.”
“What song?”
“The stars sing before the bird flies.”
“Yes?”
Freya hummed four notes.
Jocelyn recognized them instantly.
Their mother’s old music box.
The star box played those notes when opened.
“Mom used to press the bottom after the song.”
Jocelyn froze.
“What?”
“She showed me once.”
“Press what?”
“The bottom.”
Jocelyn’s pulse raced.
The star box had a false compartment.
The blue key had probably been inside.
But Harrison had already searched the boxes from Damon’s house.
If he didn’t find the star box, Damon still had it.
Or he had hidden it.
That night Jocelyn waited until Harrison slept.
She had thirty seconds before the motion alarm brought him upstairs.
She opened her door.
Walked quickly to Freya’s.
Entered.
Freya launched herself into her arms.
For a few seconds neither spoke.
They just held each other.
“I missed you,” Freya whispered.
“I know.”
A chime sounded downstairs.
Jocelyn pulled away.
“Listen.”
Freya nodded.
“Mom hid something because both of them lied.”
“Dad and Damon?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Footsteps.
Jocelyn spoke quickly.
“If something happens and we get separated, tell Claire Benton two-one-four.”
Freya repeated, “Two-one-four.”
“And Miriam.”
“Miriam.”
The doorknob turned.
Harrison stood there.
His face was frighteningly calm.
“I told you to stay in your room.”
Jocelyn stood in front of Freya.
Harrison looked at both girls.
Then he noticed the way Freya clutched Jocelyn’s sleeve.
Something dark passed through his expression.
“You’ve decided to make this difficult.”
Jocelyn lifted her chin.
“No.”
May you like
She held Freya tighter.
“Mom did.”
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